Ineffably Inevitable
by ineffablepenguin
Summary: 6,000 years of slow burn has to catch fire eventually. This fic picks up right after the show's finale lunch at the Ritz. Crowley and Aziraphale are back at Aziraphale's bookshop having a celebratory drink, as one does after avoiding the end of everything. This story is from Aziraphale's perspective. {Part 1 of the Ineffable Husbands series. It continues with Part 2: "For Good"}


**CHAPTER 1: Aftermath**

"So we really have saved the world- for now at least," he sighed. The fire had burned down to it's embers, and the back room was comfortably warm and cozily lit. Aziraphale felt more relaxed and at peace with the world than he had in a very long time.

"Yeah," drawled Crowley, sitting splayed out next to him on the tufted sofa, wine glass dangling carelessly from his hand. His jacket and glasses lay discarded on the armrest next to him. "I guess the real question is, what next?" He looked at Aziraphale and raised an eyebrow. "Both out of favor with our respective offices-"

"_That's_ putting it mildly," Aziraphale grumbled."

"-and presumably left to our own devices for the time being. So, what now?"

"Well… I suppose we simply carry on. You know. Enjoy Earth, as we've been doing all this time."

He shot a sideways glance at Crowley, who was staring broodingly into his empty glass.

"Same as always?" he asked without looking up. Something about the way he asked the question sent a thrill through Aziraphale, though he quickly suppressed it with the ease of long practice.

"I don't see why not," he replied, feeling slightly flustered. He cleared his throat and was suddenly unable to look at Crowley.

Crowley spoke again, slowly. "There was a while there...in the bookshop...where I thought I'd lost you forever." His voice cracked slightly on the last word.

And oh, dear, he was looking at him like that again, with that expression that made it so very hard to stay calm and clear-headed. Aziraphale cleared his throat again and was suddenly acutely aware of his pulse, which was irritating and seemed to only happen around either Crowley or great danger (though if truth be told the two were often present at the same time).

"Me too," he said at last, staring fixedly ahead and trying to ignore the ache in his heart. "I'm so very sorry to have put you through that, and I'm ever so glad that - that things were sorted out. I have no desire to lose you either." He flushed at his own candor and finally turned to look at him. "My dear, I can't-"

Crowley leaned across the short distance between them and, with infinite tenderness, pressed his lips to his.

Whatever Aziraphale had been about to say vanished in a flood of incandescent feeling- it felt as if the sun had catapulted into his heart and mind, and he was abruptly quite unable to speak. His hand, instinctively pressed against Crowley's chest to keep him at bay, found its fingers curling around the edge of his waistcoat instead. He sat frozen, breathless, lost in the endless blinding sensation of the demon's lips against his, until Crowley finally pulled gently away.

They stared at each other only inches apart, Aziraphale dazedly and Crowley with naked longing. Crowley's face was stripped of its normal studied nonchalance, his eyes wide and slitted pupils expanded to soft orbs. There was a look of utter vulnerability on his face that made Aziraphale's already-taxed heart pound so hard he felt like he might faint.

"O-oh," was all he could manage to stammer out.

He looked down at his hand, which was still clutching the neck of Crowley's black waistcoat, and couldn't remember what he had been trying to do. He was intensely aware of of Crowley's body heat, always a few degrees above a normal human's, which now seemed to be radiating out in a palpable cloud and making his head spin.

Crowley swallowed hard, his throat clicking as he did and drawing Aziraphale's attention back to his face. The lines of his jaw were tense, his slitted eyes guarded now, searching Aziraphale's face with a pained expression that made his heart ache.

Crowley was afraid, Aziraphale realized. He was afraid he had just made a mistake that was going to lead to him being pushed away, rejected. Brushed away like he had done all the other times Crowley had reached out to him over the years.

Suddenly, in the face of that unbearable pain the rules of Head Office seemed so utterly unimportant.

Aziraphale felt something within himself crack, as a barrier he had studiously erected over millennia shattered. Before he quite knew what he was doing his other hand had seized the other side of Crowley's vest and tugged him firmly toward him, and suddenly Crowley's hands were enveloping his face and -_oh_ \- he was kissing him like he had never imagined someone could be kissed, and Aziraphale was kissing him back with equal fervor.

And oh, oh, this, THIS was what drove humans mad and spurred all those wonderful Shakespearean sonnets. THIS is what all the countless books in his shop had been trying to explain. THIS was Crowley's warm, callused hands framing his face, one thumb moving an infinitesimal amount to gently stroke his chin, THIS was Crowley reaching forward to wrap one arm around his waist and lean into the kiss as if his life depended on it.

It seemed to Aziraphale that molten fire ran through his veins, leaving him utterly breathless. The body he had worn for thousands of years was suddenly alien to him, filled with overwhelming sensations he had never dreamed he could have. Joy burned incandescent inside him, a wild and perfectly excess amount of raw emotion that no angel should properly feel.

This was madness, glorious madness, and in that moment Aziraphale realized that he never wanted to be sane again.

Crowley brushed kisses down Aziraphale's jaw and neck, leaving trails of fire in their wake and making him gasp.

"Angel," he murmured, burying his face in Aziraphale's shoulder. "_Angel," _he breathed almost inaudibly.

For a long time they just stayed that way, clutching at each other with their eyes closed, feeling the warmth of each other's bodies and the rise and fall of the other's chests. Aziraphale had one hand buried in Crowley's hair and the other arm wrapped around his waist, and he realized that he had never been this happy before in his entire long life. Happiness, always a rather ethereal and distant thing, now filled him with an intensity that was almost like pain.

Everything had changed, everything and nothing at all, because now Aziraphale realized that this had always been there. All the long years, THIS had been right there between them, just waiting to be acknowledged.

"I love you, Crowley," he breathed, and saying it felt like releasing a pressure he hadn't known was there. "So very, very much."

* * *

**CHAPTER 2: Confessions **

He sighed wistfully, his cheek against Crowley's hair. "I suppose I've been a fool."

Crowley chuckled, the sound muffled in the fabric of Aziraphale's coat. "Well. The end of the world isn't a bad time to turn over a new leaf."

He laughed too, feeling lighter than he would have thought possible. "No, I guess not." Smiling like an idiot, he cast about for something to say and gestured to the cabinet across the room. "Can I...pour you another drink?"

"Thanks, but I'd rather not let go of you just yet if it's all the same to you," Crowley murmured without lifting his head.

"...Crowley?" Aziraphale said in concern. His giddiness faltered as he stroked the mussed hair with no response. "Are you alright? What is it?"

"It's fine," Crowley said, but his voice was unsteady.

"It is _not_. My dear, please tell me what's wrong," he implored.

Crowley took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled, pressing his forehead against Aziraphale's and tightening his arms around his neck as he did so. He spoke in barely more than a whisper.

"Do you remember the day we met, angel?" He continued without giving Aziraphale a chance to answer. "I do. At the garden, as clearly as if it were yesterday. Everything had just gone all wrong, and you were worried about that stupid sword. And you were ridiculous, and conflicted, and kind-", he swallowed convulsively, eyes still tightly shut, then continued in a voice rough with emotion,

"...and positively the most _wonderful_ thing I had seen since I Fell. It had been so long since I had seen anything wonderful. And I knew then, I knew that you could never look at someone like me...and see anything worth caring for."

Aziraphale stared at him, stricken.

"I never said a word, because I knew someone like you wouldn't- I knew I couldn't cut it," Crowley bit out. He hunched his shoulders and lowered his face to rest on Aziraphale's shoulder again, speaking faster now.

"I always hoped, even prayed once, that if I just saved you enough times, maybe I could-" he stopped, shaking his head. "And then you were gone, and I couldn't save you. I was too late, and none of it mattered anymore," he finished in a rush.

Speechless, Aziraphale held him and gazed into space for a long moment, feeling as if he had been punched in the gut. He was thinking of all the times he had shoved down words unspoken, or denied their friendship. The millennia he had spent pretending to himself that he felt nothing at all for this man. The countless times Crowley had simply appeared when he needed help most.

"My dear," he sighed affectionately at last. He placed a hand under Crowley's chin and forced him to finally meet his eyes, and the anguish in the demon's face nearly broke his heart.

"My dear, darling idiot. We are both so very, very stupid."

He framed Crowley's face with his hands and drew their mouths together. He poured every ounce of passionate feeling he could muster into the kiss, which after a couple thousand years of suppression was quite a lot, and Crowley huffed in surprise before responding in kind. He pulled Aziraphale into his lap and twined his arms desperately around his waist, and for a long while they were utterly lost in each other. Crowley was warm and vibrant and _alive_ like no human or angel he had ever met, and kissing him was more potent than the strongest liquor. By the time they broke apart, minutes or hours later, Aziraphale was in danger of forgetting his own name.

Crowley at least seemed equally off balance, with a high flush in his cheeks and his normally immaculate russet hair wonderfully disheveled. Staring down at his face- the sharp planes of his cheekbones, the golden sheen of his eyes, the lips softly parted- Aziraphale thought he had never seen anything more beautiful.

Those eyes were currently full of open wonder and boldly fixed on his own, and the thrill of THAT was as marvelous as any of the rest of it. He blushed furiously and glanced away, but quickly looked back and held the gaze, reveling in the freedom of looking at Crowley as much as he liked.

He cupped a hand to that adored face, gazing into those marvelous eyes. "My dear, you have always been worth caring about. I have loved you for as long as I can remember."

"It's been very inconvenient," he added, smiling shyly.

Crowley's face broke into an incredulous answering smile and he laughed, the sound more carefree than anything Aziraphale had ever heard him make. He reached up and ran long fingers through Aziraphale's curls, letting his hand come to rest behind his neck.

"Well." Crowley cleared his throat, and his mouth quirked into that roguish smirk that always made his stomach leap. "It's about bloody time then."

* * *

**CHAPTER 3: Human Nature**

"Crowley," Aziraphale said quietly. He looked down at the demon, who lay lengthwise across the sofa with his upper body cradled in Aziraphale's lap. He was snoring lightly.

Aziraphale was pretending to read (at least, he was holding a book), but had instead mostly been gently carding his fingers through the sleeping Crowley's hair for the past hour. He marveled at the soft texture and the sense of intimacy the touch produced. As an angel he was naturally a being of love, but he had been utterly unprepared for this; there was something so different, so completely beautiful and _human_ about this kind of connection that couldn't be put into words. It made the last few thousand years feel rather...pale, by comparison. As if the entire world had suddenly flushed from sepia tones into true living color.

He kept half-expecting a lightning bolt to strike them both, but heaven seemed to have other business that night.

Crowley opened his eyes and looked up at him.

"It's getting very late, my dear."

"Oh...oh right. Of course," Crowley said quickly, trying and failing to not look disappointed. "I can get going then." He blinked and began to sit up, but Aziraphale placed a hand on his chest, stopping him. Crowley looked up at him curiously.

"What I meant was, it's so late that I thought you might want to- to stay here tonight rather than driving all the way back", he said in a rush. Oh, and now he was blushing again, he could feel it! "You could sleep and I could stay with you. If you want to- if you want me to, that is," he babbled nervously.

Crowley reached up and touched his cheek, silencing him. He was clearly suppressing a smile but his voice was tender. "I'd like that."

"Oh. Well, then." Aziraphale beamed, feeling giddy. "Come on." They both struggled to their feet and he reached out shyly to take Crowley's hand, smiling at the way the rougher fingers immediately laced through his own. Aziraphale led them up the stairs to the single door that comprised the top floor. He opened it to reveal a small, cozy bedroom with an armchair against the far wall and a lit fireplace in the corner. A large, neatly-made bed took up most of the floor space; it was piled high with comfortable-looking fluffy pillows and a tartan coverlet.

Crowley snorted and leaned against the doorframe, glancing curiously around the little room. "I've never seen this place before," he commented. "Why do you even have a bed? I know you don't sleep."

"I thought it best to keep up appearances," the angel replied, removing his coat and determinedly avoiding Crowley's eyes. "You know, just to be safe." The truth was that he had miracled the bed into existence a mere thirty minutes before, and had spent the remaining time working up enough courage to make the offer.

He stole a glance over at Crowley and found him watching him back, a half smile on his face and one eyebrow raised in what could only be called extreme skepticism.

It really wasn't fair, thought Aziraphale desperately, for a celestial being to be able to blush quite so much. There should be a natural law against it!

"Oh, shut up."

"I didn't say anything!" Crowley protested, grinning.

"Yes, well, you were thinking it. Very loudly." Flustered, he crossed the room to a bottle of Glenlivet sitting on the side table and began to pour himself a tumbler.

Crowley shrugged and sauntered towards him with deliberate nonchalance.

"I'm thinking a lot of things very loudly right now."

Aziraphale dropped the glass. Caramel-colored liquid sloshed everywhere, spattering the fine carpet and his shoes.

He turned and stared in indignation. "You did that on purpose!"

Crowley tilted his head, smirking in that damnable way of his that always set his heart thumping. "Nothing gets past you, does it?" He casually snapped his fingers and both the glass and spilled liquor vanished.

Aziraphale sputtered for a few more seconds before giving up. He sighed. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" He carefully set the bottle back down on the table.

"Naturally," Crowley drawled, still grinning at him. "It's very cute, you know, but if you like I can pretend to believe you."

"Oh, heavens." Aziraphale blushed scarlet for what felt like the thousandth time that evening and covered his face in pure mortification. A moment later he felt his hand being gently pulled away, to reveal Crowley's face only inches from his.

"Hey now, there's no need for that." He brushed two fingertips down Aziraphale's cheek, his voice soft with affectionate indulgence. "It's just me. I was just teasing."

Aziraphale chuckled ruefully, still blushing. "I'm sorry. I'm _terrible _at this."

"You're not." Crowley frowned, suddenly uncertain. "Am I still going too fast for you? I can leave if you'd rather -"

In answer, Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him, feeling that rush of effervescent joy as Crowley leaned into it too. "I think six thousand years of wasted time is quite enough, don't you? Stay."

Crowley grinned again, and God but he looked handsome doing it. "Well in that case..." He reached out and tugged at the tartan bow tie around his neck until it came loose, then laid it over the back of the nearby armchair. "People generally don't wear formal attire to bed." He stepped around behind him and eased Aziraphale's waistcoat off his shoulders, folding it once before setting it next to the bow tie.

There was something gloriously sweet and intimate about letting Crowley undress him. Aziraphale closed his eyes as Crowley started undoing the buttons of his collared shirt. He let out a shaky breath and reflected that perhaps he should be undressing Crowley as well- but THAT thought was so alarming that it short-circuited in it's tracks. His entire body was tingling, and he wondered if there was such a thing as spontaneous discorporation. It would hardly be more surprising than what had already happened today.

Crowley finished removing the shirt and added it to the neatly folded pile. He then sat on the edge of the bed and shucked off his own shoes, kicking them carelessly across the room. He quickly shed his jacket and jeans in the same way, leaving him in just a grey T-shirt and boxer briefs.

Aziraphale watched from the corner of his eye, pretending to fiddle with his watch strap.

"Right. First things first." With one long motion Crowley swept the pile of pillows off the bed, sending them scattering in all directions. He pulled back the covers and sprawled out on his back, eyes closed. "Aaaahhh, that's much better," he sighed, looking absurdly content. He propped himself up on his elbows and jerked his chin towards the space next to him. "Come on then, it's high time you tried out sleeping. I promise you it'll change your life."

"I'm not sure I could handle much more of that." Aziraphale lowered himself onto the side of the bed and gingerly removed his shoes and trousers, feeling acutely vulnerable in only his undershirt and shorts. He could feel Crowley's eyes on him, but whenever he glanced over the demon was studiously staring at the ceiling. He reached out and snapped his fingers at the room's single lamp, and they were plunged into darkness save for the flickering fire.

He felt the bed shift, and suddenly Crowley's fever-hot arms slid around his chest from behind, pulling him down under the covers and tightly together. After a startled moment he sighed and allowed himself to relax. To his delight, he fit perfectly into the curve of the demon's body, molding against him as if he belonged there. There was that funny click inside again as everything in the universe seemed to fall into place. _Home, _he realized.

He felt home.

"I love you," Crowley said suddenly and clearly into his hair. He placed a gentle kiss in the hollow behind his ear, the faint stubble of his chin scraping Aziraphale's neck. "I love you, Aziraphale."

"My love," Aziraphale whispered as soon as he remembered how to breathe again.

They lay there together, Aziraphale lost in a haze of bewildered happiness. He felt the brush of Crowley's even breathing against the back of his head, and marveled at the events that had brought them here. The whole thing had an element of unreality to it, and he was still trying to order his whirling thoughts. It was a lot of change all at once for a person who's life had remained largely the same for the last couple hundred years. The apocalypse, the antichrist, the- excommunication, he supposed, from the side he had worked for his entire life. And now this new and utterly lovely thing with Crowley.

Of course Aziraphale was aware of sexuality- it was impossible not to be after living among humans so long; the creatures sometimes seemed to think of little else. He knew all the technicalities. But he had always dismissed sex as an element of human frivolity, like- like rap music, or something. Nice to some, but not at all essential to the human experience.

Now, feeling the slow heat of Crowley's body behind him and the new memories from the day, he sensed a vast and profound new understanding unfolding before him. He realized with a jolt that he wanted that understanding, more than he had wanted anything in a very long time.

Six thousand years of friendship. Six thousand years of love and trust, of Crowley's endearing smile and bursts of kindness that he refused to acknowledge. What was any other allegiance compared to that? And Gabriel and the rest of those bureaucratic imbeciles would have destroyed it. A very un-angelic rage bloomed in his chest at the thought. They would have. They would kill his Crowley, for the sake of their stupid war.

To Hell with them, Aziraphale thought, making a decision. To Hell with all of them.

He rolled over and and kissed Crowley hard on the mouth, sliding his arms up and around his chest.

His other kisses had been all tenderness and hesitation. While the tenderness was still present there was nothing at all hesitant in the way he kissed Crowley now. He pressed himself against the length of the lean body, and Crowley's eyes flew open wide as he inhaled sharply against his mouth. Aziraphale pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, kissing him slowly, languidly, exploring his mouth with his tongue and savoring the taste of him. He paused for breath and Crowley stared up at him in almost comical shock, eyes wide and mouth hanging open with limbs splayed out. Then his arms came up to encircle Aziraphale's waist like bands of iron, his fingers digging into his back as he clutched at him. With a grunt of effort Crowley rolled them both over in one smooth, sinuous motion so that he was astride him, pinning Aziraphale down into the thick bedding. He smelled of smoke and leather seats and that undefinable musky scent that was distinctly _him_.

The sight of Crowley staring down at him like that, his eyes gleaming huge and golden and intense in the firelight, was enough to take Aziraphale's breath away. The darkness spread out above him in all directions, and from this angle it looked almost like enormous black wings.

Then Crowley's mouth was on his, obliterating thought, and his body was warm and wonderfully solid atop him. Especially -shockingly- in the place between his legs; Aziraphale could feel the hard bulge against him through the thin fabric of their shorts. He was also aware of a matching sensation growing between his own legs, all the intense emotions seeming to converge there. Aziraphale seized handfuls of his love's shirt and pulled him close, then yanked the shirt up and over his head, suddenly desperate to feel more of that heat on him. In a moment of wild abandon he lifted his hips and pressed that exquisite hardness against Crowley's. Crowley let out a choked gasp and ground his own hips down against him, then suddenly they were both pressing forward against each other, hands tangled in blond and copper hair alike. The molten heat of before bloomed into an inferno as they both frantically tried to express thousands of years of pent up longing without any real clue what they were doing.

Now Crowley's hands were roaming as he moved against him, running under Aziraphale's clothes and stroking him in places that made him groan with pleasure. There was a shiver in the air, and abruptly the rest of their clothes were simply gone. He wasn't entirely certain which of them was responsible.

Aziraphale clung to him in a kind of panicked joy. This was- it was -_wonderful_. Incredible. Ineffable, he thought wildly, and would have laughed out loud if Crowley hadn't done something at that moment that made him gasp instead.

Kissing had been glorious, and Aziraphale had thought that nothing could possibly feel better, but this was something else entirely. It was the simple pleasure of a hot bath on a cold day, the satisfaction that came with an excellent bottle of wine, the unique joy that was kissing Crowley- It was all of those things and much more as well, threaded through with this new awareness, this hunger that had blossomed inside of him.

He gave in to it and let his own hands begin to explore recklessly, delighting in the sensation of flesh on flesh and the gasps he elicited from Crowley. Both of their breathing was ragged now, both barely maintaining control as they navigated this new territory together.

Crowley growled into his ear and bit the skin at the base of Aziraphale's neck, sending chills running down his spine to take up residence somewhere below the navel.

"Oh my- what was-" he gasped.

Crowley grinned wickedly at his reaction and and ran his tongue over the same area. "My angel," he whispered fiercely, breath hot on his neck. "_My_ angel."

Aziraphale's heart was pounding so hard he wondered vaguely if he might be having a heart attack. He decided he didn't care; his heart could do what it wanted as long as it didn't interrupt what they were doing.

Suddenly, Crowley had a firm grasp between his legs, fingers wrapped all the way around him, and instead of letting go he was squeezing gently in rhythm with his mouth on Aziraphale's neck. The heat of Crowley's hand seemed to burn through his entire body, and Aziraphale wanted to cry out to him to slow down, to hurry, to oh heavens please do both at the same time. Completely undone, all he could do was wrap his arms around Crowley and shudder helplessly as his understanding of the universe was completely rewritten.

The undulating pressure of Crowley's hand and hips grew more and more urgent as his kisses grew more and more passionate. Just as Aziraphale felt he must surely fly apart, or maybe have that heart attack after all, an aching wave of pleasure more intense than anything he'd ever felt burst from his groin under Crowley's hand, rippling through his entire body and arching his back involuntarily. "Oh, _fuck_," he gasped, and threw back his head and let out a long, strangled groan that seemed to tear it's way out from deep within his chest. Crowley pushed himself up and leaned forward to kiss his mouth with desperate urgency, as if trying to capture the sound. _"Mine,"_ he panted, then grunted and clenched up hard against him, eyes squeezed shut in a grimace that almost looked pained.

* * *

They lay in the wreckage of the bed together afterwards, both of them pleasantly replete and exhausted and covered in sweat. Aziraphale had his head pillowed in the crook of Crowley's neck, and the taller man's lanky arm was wrapped around him and absently toying with one of his blonde curls.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said suddenly.

"Hm?" Crowley murmured drowsily. His eyes were half shut.

"Have you ever done this with anyone else?"

There was a pause, then Crowley pulled back and looked at him incredulously. "Are you serious? What- who else would I possibly want to do this with? Why would you even ask me that?" He sounded almost hurt.

Aziraphale looked down shyly. "I don't know. You just seemed so...confident. Like you knew what you wanted." He tucked his head back under Crowley's chin.

"I wanted _you,_ angel. The rest came naturally." He cleared his throat, sounding embarrassed. "Well...and there are also a lot of magazine articles on the subject. You know- in grocery store lines and such."

"Oh really," Aziraphale said, swallowing the urge to laugh and settling for a huge grin. "I didn't realize that."

"Yeah, well, you would if you ever put down your moldy old books and read something useful," Crowley said with mock severity.

"I suppose it was pretty useful, all things considered," Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley laughed. "There, you see? An angel agreeing with a demon- Hell truly must have frozen over, undeniable proof!" He planted a slow kiss on the top of Aziraphale's head and pulled him slightly closer.

"Im pretty sure the undeniable proof was when an angel fell in love with a demon," Aziraphale mused. "I don't think it's ever been done. Neither side is going to be happy about it."

Crowley scoffed. "Well. They've already tried to kill us; what more can they do? Hastur and the rest can freeze together down there for all I care. And if your lot try anything either they'll have to reckon with me. Together we can defy the lot of them."

"Yes," he murmured. "The lot of them." So here we are then, Aziraphale thought. Too good for Hell and too wicked for Heaven. Where exactly does that leave us? he wondered. Truth be told, it didn't seem to matter much anymore.

"Goodnight, my love," he sighed. He felt himself drifting off to sleep for the first time in his life, and as the world faded away a last coherent thought burst in on him.

_Human_, he realized. I think it makes us human.

.

* * *

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